Complicated: A Series (aka Complicated Piece)
by cappuccino girl
Summary: CJ/Sam. A complex relationship. Updated with Life's Little Whirlwinds, the last in the series.
1. Complicated Piece

complicatedpiece 

Complicated Piece  
  
Author: Cappuccino Girl  
  
Genre: Angst. Drama. CJ/Sam  
Spoilers: None, but I assume you have been watching :-)  
  
Notes: Many thanks to my beta readers, Len and Jess. You girls kick some serious creative ass, and I promise to continue the Trilogy'. Infinite thanks to my dear friend Gary for mailing 2 Cathedrals, I & I, and Manchester out to me in England, which I saw 5 weeks after having written the first draft of this. I was sure before, but now I have no doubts that CJ is perfect for angst in every way. Anyone have any ideas of how we can get Allison Janney act some of the fics? :-)  
  
Summary: She relishes the silence, for with silence comes inner peace, because she need not fear that she might be honest with him and pour her worries onto his beautiful mind  
  
  
  
  
  
She creeps up the smooth marble stairs, conscious of every step, every abrupt move. They have agreed to meet here. She had long ago put the thought out of her   
head that this would ever happen, for colleagues shouldn't do such things, let alone a Press Secretary and Deputy Communications Director. She is a vital part of the White House's public image. When the press want to know something, they go to her first, as she gives them a picture of what happens in this office. Yet, she had always wanted to be here, for he is special and when he touches her she feels precious.  
  
It had started like that. A joke. A laugh. A touch. Innocent, yet so full of undefinable meaning. He'd bought her a drink one night, and she'd looked into her glass like it could tell the future, and told him how she felt lonely. He couldn't comprehend that simple idea, so he placed his arm around her, musing how he was offering her company.   
  
She'd laughed at that because she'd had one glass too many, and because she wanted him to look at her like he did sometimes when he thought she wasn't aware of his presence. She always was. How could she not be?   
  
He is constantly there with his choice comments on any issue which he feels passionate about. He voices his opinions, and some listen and others tease. It is how people behave towards her, she thinks, except that he writes the speeches the President gives, and she just regurgitates the day's events.   
  
Now she stands in front of his door, checking that she looks as she should do. She's not wearing anything too fancy because she feels nervous enough as it is, although she doesn't know why. She extends her slender index finger and brushes over the door bell before pushing down until she hears a faint chime. She fiddles with her hair, and runs the pendant of her necklace up and down the delicate silver chain while she waits.   
  
She can hear the sound of footsteps on floorboards, and when they cease, the heavy white door opens briskly. He stands there. Jeans and T-shirt. He gazes at her intently, taking in every aspect of her presence, and it makes her feel blissfully faint.  
  
he says sheepishly.   
  
She gracefully closes her eyes for a second, checking the reality of the situation, and smiles when she's sure it's true. An honest and grateful smile. With that, her nervousness is gone, and all that remains is the positive tension between them.   
  
He beckons her to come in. She moves forward, yet he remains there in the doorway, and his arm touches hers. She shivers a little, which he notices. They play on the moment a little with a gentle kiss, and when they finally move through the hallway and into his living room, he looks at her like she is the most beautiful person he has ever seen.   
  
She removes her soft cream scarf and camel coat, throwing them effortlessly onto the couch while he follows her every move. Neither know what to say in this unfamiliar situation, so looks and eye movement take the place of words, and explain everything with verbal clarity.  
  
They sit next to each other on his sofa, like a couple of many years. Her head is on his shoulder, feet tucked up on the cushion. His arms are around her, holding her like she has always hoped he would.  
  
In a way she feels obliged to talk and kiss him for his kindness, yet there always is noise in her life. Talking, always talking. Can you give us an update on this, that, the other? What is the President's comment on the latest Supreme Court ruling? Where does the Office stand with regards towards the issue? And she talks, and laughs, and stalls, trying to answer as best as she can, all the while afraid of that unavoidable moment when she might misspeak.   
  
So she relishes the silence, for with silence comes inner peace, because she need not fear that she might be honest with him and pour her worries onto his beautiful mind. He just laughs off his own troubles, a boyish trait, she believes.  
  
He leans down and kisses her head, as if to comfort her inner wounds. She moves ever so slightly so that she can see him, and he can see her. He contemplates her weary blue eyes, wondering whether she has always looked like this.  
  
You look tired, he whispers honestly to her as he runs his fingers through her hair.  
  
She smiles feebly, adopting her usual tone of sarcasm. What a surprise.   
  
I was watching you when you went into the press room the other day. You rummaged through your notes in a frantic way.  
  
She looks down at the lines made in the cotton of the couch. It's easier to look there, as it isn't analyzing her.  
  
Your fingers rushed over the yellow pages, like a pianist playing a complicated piece. He pauses for a moment, a sincere look focused on her alone. You play a complicated piece, don't you?  
  
She gingerly looks up at him, gazing into his eyes. Every day, sometimes every hour, she speaks swiftly. It's before an audience, a critical one. They judge every word you say, and then, when you think you're done, and the curtain has been drawn, you go back to your office, and there are all the internal critics waiting for you. I feel like I'm trapped in this constant ring cycle of performance and critique.   
  
He leans back as far as he can, trying to take in every aspect of her. And what a spectacular one it is. Don't you ever tire of the show?   
  
She rubs her fingers over her forehead, almost closing her eyes. Pursing her lips ever so slightly, she attempts a laugh so weary that it pains him hear it.  
  
I've been tired for so long now, but I could never stop, she explains simply.  
  
She cannot bring herself to say that if she would, she'd fall apart before the eyes of everyone, yet he knows this all the same. He has always been able to tell such things, even when no one else could. It's what makes him special, that she needn't talk at all.   
  
There is a moment's silence, and he holds her close, only moving away when he asks her if she'd like some tea.  
  
she murmurs.  
  
He slowly gets up from the couch and proceeds to the kitchen. As the clattering sounds fill the previously silent room, she hugs a pillow for comfort. He whistles cheerfully. She used to do that occasionally, and hum in the shower. That was a long time ago, when she was genuinely happy and not some artificial substitute for optimism. Everyone likes that, though. That she's optimistic and sarcastic. A classy lady, that's what they have said.  
  
Do you think I'm classy, Sam? she questions, regaining a small spark of her true self.   
  
He pokes his head out through the archway which leads to the kitchen. He's holding the kettle in one hand, and 2 mugs in the other, along with the tea. It's quite a balancing act, and it make her feel lazy, so she rises awkwardly from the sofa, joining him in the kitchen.   
  
She snatches the tea from him, holding it possessively at her chest. So, do you think I'm classy? she prods, smiling.   
  
He hasn't seen her genuinely smile in so long that he can't even recall when it last was. He knows that she is on the edge of an emotional cliff, looking into what must be a giant canyon, the valley covered with the better moments which might line her future. It's a long drop down, and she fears the uncertainty of falling.   
  
What do you think? he teases to lighten his thoughts and keep her smiling.  
  
She does a little twirl towards the refrigerator, and playfully flicks her hair out of her face.   
  
he states.  
  
She smiles, throws the black tin in response to his demanding stare, and moves towards him also.   
  
He's spooning the dark leaves into the filter, probably counting in his head, so he's not paying attention when she grabs his head, turns it towards hers, and kisses him. The spoon which he was holding clatters onto the tiled floor in pleasant surprise. Rather than pick it up, they move, as one, to the counter, her leaning backwards over it, kissing him, hoping that she can forget tomorrow for just one day.   
  
His hand moves up her back under the smooth blue shirt, counting every vertebrae, eventually resting on her shoulder. It stays there for a moment, resting, hoping that this could be more than a passionate kiss. He notices how she's so indescribably beautiful like this. Those stunning yet tired eyes of hers. Shirt unbuttoned and crumpled. Hair out of place, yet perfect. When she's herself for just one moment, and not what she believes they all want her to be.   
  
~* *~  
  
She awakes, trembling and dripping wet. Her eyes dart around the room. She's not in the briefing room, and no one is next to her, holding an overly large sheet of paper saying Career Obituary. Sign Here'. There is no tree before her eyes, and her cheeks are not covered in glistening shards of glass, mixing with her crimson blood. Twisted metal. Windshield shattered. Red.   
  
Nothing. It's just darkness. Relieved, she turns around, shoving the pesky sheets from her. He's next to her, and when she looks at the corner of his mouth, she thinks how he must be having a far more peaceful sleep than she has had in months. Some guy she met in a bar one night told her about how his therapy sessions had cured all his troubles. She'd thought he was a total wimp, and an asshole. She also wondered who came out with their whole life story over a couple of drinks. No one even knew which high school she went to, and she was a public figure.   
  
Infuriated and scared by her nightmares, she squints, trying to read the glowing numbers on her alarm clock. 3:18 am. Not quite time to get up. If she did, she'd probably wake Sam who was sleeping next to her, and he'd give her hell. Mental hell. He'd ask her what was wrong with her, and go on about all the good things she'd done, and how there was no need for her to be so worried.   
  
She pulls at the covers as she's cold again at the thought of failure. He stirs a little.   
  
You awake? a husky voice murmurs into the sheets.  
  
  
  
he asks, turning onto his side so that he can see her back.  
  
Just am, she whispers, trying to stop herself from crying.   
  
His finger runs a swirly pattern down her bare back. It sticks a little, for she's still moist from her tormented dreams. He always feels uncomfortable in this situation, for he wishes he could make all her horrors into four leafed clovers. She's so overly critical of herself, he thinks.   
  
She's silently praying that he will drift off to sleep before he tries his white knight act again. She tends to appreciate chivalry, so long as it doesn't result in the discussion of personal issues, but she doesn't feel up to anything now. The pillow is starting to feel damp around her cheek as the tears form a little stain on the checked fabric.   
  
He's closed his eyes again, arms around the one beside him. In his sleep deprived state, he hears a tiny whimper, accompanied by a slight jolt up her back. He'd like to sleep. She has to sleep too. She gets so little these days.  
  
He pats his arm around the bedside table until he finds the button, clicking on the light. Leaning over her now illuminated body, he notices how her head is buried in the pillow, trying to suffocate her fear, or what ever else she is feeling that she won't share.   
  
She can feel his breath, warm on her neck.  
  
Put the light out, she gasps.  
  
he whispers, hand on her shoulder, trying get close to her so that maybe he can tell by looking at her what's wrong.  
  
She flinches and crawls out of bed.   
  
What are you doing? he questions desperately.  
  
I can't let you see me like this, she whispers in between her audible tears, pulling his old sweater over her head and moving towards the living room, the only act of evasion she can think of now that she's in his apartment. In his room. In his bed.   
  
He lies there, feeling a little helpless himself. For God's sake, CJ, he complains, falling out of the comfortable blankets, and trying to find his way out of the room while having a giant head rush.   
  
When he enters, she's sitting on the couch, arms wrapped around her legs, rocking ever so slightly. Her face glistens a little as the water falls down in delicate drops. She has heard his bare feet come closer, and she buries her head in the crack between her knees, the last step of escape she can see.  
  
He strokes his hand over her hair. He can feel her crying, for her head is trembling slightly. He's comforted her for so long, done his best to remain silent and supportive.   
  
What was it? he asks, moving to sit on the coffee table so he's facing her.  
  
she whispers, wiping the proof from her face.   
  
He's watched her, listened to those few personal words she's ever told him like they were the most incredible poetry he'd ever heard. They've had snowball fights on cold winter nights like 5 year olds, which ended with them in a giggling heap on the ground. They've shared embarrassing stories which made her blush so badly that she's covered her face with her hands, grimacing.   
  
He's studying her different expression as she moves her shoulders forward, and folds her hands delicately in between her barely separated legs, feet on the parquet floor. She looks up at him, and he thinks how she looks a little small and helpless like that, which really should be an oxymoron, for she is never either.  
  
I'm going to go for a walk, she says quietly, moving from her place on the sofa.  
  
Now? But it's like- he stops himself, realising that now is not the time for technicalities. Let me put on my jeans, ok?  
  
  
~* *~  
  
They walk down the oak lined path that cuts through the park just down the road from his apartment. A film of fine rain encompasses them as they walk slowly in the soft light coming from the lamps which are sparsely scattered around the gardens. He's holding her hand. She hasn't really looked at him since she's got up, because she's embarrassed that she's outside wandering in the middle of the night, and finds herself tugging at each side of her soft coat in anxiety until the wool across her shoulders tightens and she feels a pain across the back of her neck reinforcing the awkwardness of the situation.  
  
He desperately wants to break the silence because the moment calls for   
conversation. Refraining from questioning her dreams, he puts his arms   
around her and asks Do you ever think about what will happen after?  
  
She turns her head slightly, focusing her blue eyes on his mouth, where the perplexing sentence originated.   
  
After what?  
  
This. The administration.   
  
He moves towards one of the cast iron benches positioned between two of the trees. They both take a seat, looking blankly at each other, deep in thoughts previously unspoken.  
  
She knows that this' had an entirely different meaning, but she can't bring herself to address that fact , so she flicks her scarf back around her neck to block out the cold. The tasselled ends brush his face, causing him to sputter a little as he tries to get the strands of wool off his tongue. She laughs quietly, and rests her head on his shoulder.   
  
Where will you go when the President's term in office is up? He speaks articulately, hoping she will reply to his subtlety.  
  
Where will I go? she repeats, gathering her thoughts. No idea. I'm doing my best to appreciate what I have at present, rather than rely on the future for happiness.  
  
Well, that's a convenient answer, he quips, a taste of bitterness in his mouth. He thinks it's her cleverly chosen words, or what she hasn't said that he wanted her to say so badly. He moves slightly, and she sits up a little more, head no longer on his shoulder, but looking at him intently.  
  
What is there to keep you here in D.C.? You'll be getting so many job offers that you'll probably dump half the envelopes in the trash without ever looking at them, and God knows how much you'd love to live in some place like California again, with the nice weather, house and a backyard... his voice trails off.   
  
She tucks her loose hair, which has been blowing around a little, behind one ear. Slightly distracted, she hardly notices his disheartened look and his quiet yet bitter All she knows is that he has just gotten up from the bench and is walking away from her, causing the pain of desertion to well within her.  
  
she calls calmly, but he doesn't turn around, just keeps walking across the damp grass. Once he is in the middle of the lawn and realises that he is getting absolutely nowhere, he pauses, back turned to her as she walks briskly up to him. The rain blurs their silhouettes and the awkwardness as she walks around him in an unnatural half circle so that she can face him. She glares at him apprehensively, requiring an explanation. His head is down, looking at his shoes, kicking the slick mass of fallen leaves with his foot to avoid eye contact.  
  
What the hell was that about? She demands.  
  
He moves closer to her, hesitantly glancing upwards to see the concern an insecurity in her eyes. I don't know. It just suddenly occurred to me how we're at this stage where we are- He stops, trying to find the best way to say such complicated thoughts. You know, I've told myself so many times that I won't be in a relationship like this, where the person I love just drags me down and causes me to be so painfully miserable, and then when I have made a final decision to end it, all I have to do is just look at you and all my plans go to hell, and we end up where we are tonight once more. His voice echoes with pain, and she turns away from him, not wanting to face the cold implication of his words.   
  
She can't talk. Can't breathe. It's like her throat is filled with burning matches which scald and scratch her, and stop her from responding, so she stands there feeling helpless and pathetic. A failure.  
  
He grabs her arm forcefully, turning her around. His voice is bitter. I can't deal with this any more, CJ. If you can't drop all your ridiculous inhibitions and tell me how you feel, so that I don't have to rely on telepathy and emotional guesswork to know how you feel and what you're really scared about, and smile truthfully for once in your life, then how am I supposed to love someone I can never get to know, who won't let me get to know her fully? I just- I'm sorry.   
  
He turns away from her and walks off. An outline of black trench coat. A silhouette of her short-lived happiness. She can't move, or follow, or do anything that might seem sensible, so she calls out to him, voice flooded with tears. But I can be honest, I can tell you everything. Yet she knows it isn't the truth, and the veracity of his words hurt her more than his leaving.  
  
~ To Be Continued~  
  
_____________________________________________________  
  
Feedback to: cappuccinogirlie@hotmail.com  
  
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	2. Abandoned Communication

abandonedcommunication 

Abandoned Communication  
  
Author: Cappuccino Girl  
  
Genre: CJ/Sam. Angst. Drama.  
Rating: PG-13   
Disclaimer: Great minds think alike. Unfortunately mine didn't invent these characters, they only have temporary residence there. They are the invention of Aaron Sorkin and belong to him, John Wells Productions, and Warner Bros.  
  
Notes: Follows Complicated Piece'. No Spoilers, but I assume you have been watching. Thanks as always to my wonderful beta readers :-)  
  
Summary: She tells herself she doesn't care, because if she would have seen clearly before she wouldn't be where she is now, so she lets herself come as close as possible to drowning.  
  
  
  
It has been more than a week since their walk in the park, a walk which resulted in her feeling more alone and useless than she has ever done. And so she had reached into the depths of her desk drawer for the telephone number of a therapist once recommended to her, and booked an appointment for Wednesday at 1 pm, the only time of the day she had free. Having walked the ten minute journey from the White House to the doctor's during her lunch hour, she had stood outside the waiting room, deliberating whether to go in or not. Sharing ones problems went against her inner pride. She never went in, and left the premises having wasted her precious time, vowing never to let herself get so low that she might consider, even for one moment, to share problems outside her circles.   
  
She is unable to forget their conversation that night, that intense, bitter tone in his voice and how he now avoids her in the office, never talking together on the same issues like they used to each day. Everyone has noticed this, she thinks, taking one last drag of her cigarette, and studying the print left on the paper by her lipstick before stubbing it out.   
  
She has been sitting here, out on the balcony of her apartment, a lot since then, watching everyone walking by on the street down below, huddled up in winter jackets, all holding hands or laughing. It reminds her of her childhood, when she and her friends used to sit out on the back porch of her house, regardless of the weather, when they came home from school. She can hear their young and carefree voices talk of what they had learned that day, and what the bullies who used to hang around by the swings were getting up to. Those memories comfort her a little. Every now and then, they used to giggle when they'd mention the really cute guy who always sat next to her in math class. They'd sing those childish songs, and she'd blush, throw her arms about emphatically, denying it all. The commotion would cause her mom to open the kitchen window and call them inside, and she'd always say that they were fine and were okay outside. She laughs a little now at the memory, because she's never been able to get that phrase out of her spoken defence mechanism, and deep down she's always been a spokesperson.   
  
She watches her breath freeze and float away in wisps into the dark air, and huddles deeper into the gray sweater she is wearing to block out the cold. It's late, and she knows she should be sleeping, but she doesn't usually sleep much, and since their fight she has hardly closed her eyes except to suppress the ever present wish to curl up in a ball on the floor and cry continuously until all the misery is washed out of her. She lifts her hands to her face and they feel ice cold against her cheeks. Sense tells her she'd better go inside, even if the slight chill she is getting seems nice, so she complies, returning to her warm living room.   
  
Its atmosphere reflects how she felt when she moved to D.C. Pictures of fond moments and the ones she holds dear on the mantelpiece. Shelves filled with the old novels she'd love to have time to read once more. A throw which her aunt gave her as a housewarming present hung neatly over the back of the couch.   
  
She shivers a little, and looks at her hands, noticing how they've turned red from the temperature change, and she makes a move towards the bathroom. That feeble voice of sense inside her makes her switch on the shower, the scalding water causing the room to fill with steam. Her hands and cheeks burn from the warmth as she throws her clothes into the corner before stepping under the powerful spray. She's standing towards the stream, water shooting into her eyes causing both pain and loss of vision. She tells herself she doesn't care, because if she would have seen clearly before she wouldn't be where she is now, so she lets herself come as close as possible to drowning.   
  
Back and cheeks flushed from the boiling water, she steps onto the bath mat, wrapping herself in a blue towel. She dries her eyes and starts to move her hand along the white shelf where her glasses are. Blurred vision combines with the chlorine still in her eyes, causing her to wrap her finger around a familiar necklace instead. She lifts it up, fingers tangled in the chain, and hears a faint voice calling to her.  
  
CJ. It's the big evening, come in here and get a drink already.   
  
I'll be there in a minute! You go ahead and have another one. She floats around the corner, showing little of her apprehension. This is the day that they have been working towards and now they can panic, and scream, and do whatever else one does in a situation like this, but nothing can be changed. This is the Primary, the first leap into unfamiliar waters.   
  
She moves a hand up to her neck, hoping that it might be there, but it isn't, and that scares her, for she has little else to hold on to. She tries her best to be optimistic and tells herself that it will be in her office.  
  
  
The door creaks open and her eyes flash around the surface of her desk, hoping to catch a telltale sparkle. Paper, empty coffee cups and pens are strewn everywhere, forming a little landscape of chaos on her desk, and now she must sit down and sort through it all. She's always been systematic, even in the state she is in at present, so she takes each sheet in turn, placing them on one single stack, and puts every pen back into the top drawer of her desk.   
  
A head looks around the door.  
  
She throws a day old paper cup into the waste basket and looks up when she's satisfied by her aim.  
  
She smiles.  
  
Why so anti-social? The Governor can't stop rattling off facts about national heritage sites and Abby's about ready to fall backwards off her chair from excitement.   
  
Is that a positive or a negative sign? she questions, still searching the desk.  
  
You're supposed to have all the female intuition. Come decide for yourself. He moves his head to one side, gesturing for her to follow.  
  
I can't. Not until I've found my... my.. the thing, she mutters, hands rummaging through the drawer.  
  
He raises his eyebrows requiring further explanation, and she wishes she could avoid giving one.  
  
My, umm.. Her hands glide about her neck before clarifying, voice quiet because she thinks it sounds silly. Necklace. My necklace.  
  
A puzzled expression takes over his face. Deal with that later. Come watch the results.  
  
I said I can't, she emphasises, a slight tone of desperation in her words.  
  
What? Because you've misplaced a necklace? He mocks.  
  
She gets up from her place behind the desk and moves towards him. Yes, and I need to find it.  
  
He's still confused, and she knows it, but would rather not tell him the reason behind her thoughts, yet his eyes are so kind and honest that she can't help but do so. It's always brought me luck, and, well, I'm not feeling very confident at present, so I'd like to, you know, find it.  
  
For luck, he states. She nods like an innocent child in agreement.  
  
He looks at his watch, which tells that the results should already be coming in, so rather than deliberate further, he pulls her towards him, brushes her hair out of her face and kisses her gently on the lips. She's startled, pleasantly surprised. Her eyes close, and she lets the moment last a little longer before professionalism takes over once more, and she moves away from him again.  
  
A kiss, for luck. He beams, and takes her hand.   
  
~* *~  
  
She blinks the walls around her back into focus, and observes the little lines which have been made on her hand by pulling the delicate chain tight around her finger in recollection of those memories. His hand once touched there after they had kissed, the first true gesture of intimacy between them. Now it all seems like scratched records, where you can't remember how the song sounded without the distortion and skipping. Maybe there wasn't ever that much between them, she wonders, willing to try anything to make herself feel less sorry, but she can't. She must wander through the corridors where he works, and is, and she feels like a departed ghost, for no one really needs her there now, at least not emotionally.   
  
She sits down on the soggy floor of the bathroom, tiles cold at her knees which poke through the mass of towels she has wrapped herself in. She feels tired, exhausted. Rather than choosing her comfortable bed and quilts, she curls up on the ice cold floor, a mess among the blue towelling, and closes her eyes, praying that the world might change.  
  
~* *~   
  
She's there, in the same room as him, and she can't stop from moving and fidgeting. Less than two weeks ago she would have been blissfully happy, and he would have undressed her with his eyes at such a moment, but now all she wishes is that she did not have to look at him, because everything has changed between them.   
  
We can't take time now to talk to some crazy animal rights organisation, Toby exclaims, rising from his chair for emphasis.   
  
She's just started listening now, not sure why she's there at all. The morning has been as painful as ever. Sam looks across the room to her. But we need to talk with them, if only so that they will lay off the accusations that this administration isn't interested in animal protection.  
  
She's sure he's talking to Toby, yet his eyes are focused on her intently, piercing an even deeper hole in her scared interior. She clutches her hands together, trying to find hidden warmth in them, but they are cold and trembling.   
  
We need to talk, Sam repeats.  
  
Toby wanders purposefully around the conference table until he is standing close behind her. Because we have so much time that we can talk with crazy people who tie themselves to railroad tracks to stop some medical experiments which could save lives. He remarks sourly.  
  
She's uneasy but feels the need to speak, if only to break her hour long silence. The issues concern her a little, so she does so, talking with surprising confidence. We can give them some time with Leo or the President or whoever, but for goodness sake, we are not going to embark on a major discussion about animal rights at present. Her voice rises a little, taking on an accusing tone, for there is meaning in her words, and secretly she wants him to know that too.  
  
So what, we'll just keep it quiet and whenever someone tells us what's wrong we'll deny it, or cower in a corner until it goes away? Sam's shouting now, eyes fixed on hers, because it's personal now, and he couldn't care less who knows.   
  
Yes, it's called spin, Sam, she retorts fiercely, getting up and heading towards the door.   
  
Toby is standing forlorn between the subtle verbal daggers, eyes flicking between the pair, trying to decide if he should be worried or angry.  
  
And it can't fix everything. Denying and not talking won't repair it, CJ.  
  
She fights the tears in her eyes, refusing to let them show in public, in the office, in front of him once more. If it weren't for her crying she knows they'd still be together, happy in unspoken feelings and words. She hates her tears more than ever, for they now have the ability to ruin intimate perfection, or the closest she's ever known to it in her life. The corner of her eye burns. As the room around her loses its focus, she knows that they will show once more, those disgusting signs of weakness, so she grabs the door and opens it, slamming it hard behind her, because she can't stand the sound of his voice, or the humiliation that comes with crying.  
  
Once back in her office, her own sobbing takes over the dull empty space, and she wonders how with all her education and work she could become such a failure. All her youth she had been told that it was the key to happiness and a balanced future. Sitting alone amidst the mountains of papers and files, she feels cheated by everyone who made her believe such lies, annoyed with herself for being so gullible.  
  
She throws her head back, tears stagnant in her eyes, and slams her fist down on the desk, relishing the pain which shudders through her bones as she doesn't think she can articulate it any other way.  
  
  
  
Her head spins around, horrified by the thought that someone might have witnessed her behavior just then, and gulps when she sees Carol, concerned expression on her face.   
  
Come in, she hears herself say before she can think clearly.   
  
Carol stands before her, not knowing quite what to say, which is unusual for both of them.  
  
Your hand okay? Carol asks gingerly, not wishing to offend.  
  
She looks down at her hand, noticing a deep red imprint from the sharp edge of the desk. Yeah, fine. I just, I kind of hit it.   
  
I know. Sure you don't want me to get some ice?  
  
It throbs. No, honest. It's fine. Carol gives her a disbelieving stare, and there is a long pause between them. No matter how hard I try at getting everything just right, I eventually succeed at ruining whatever I touch. Every damn thing, and this one mattered, really mattered. Happily ever fucking after is all you can think about. You get to this point and you're supposed to know better, that nothing will ever be that way, and that this is what we have to contend with instead, reality, and it's just so- The words flow effortlessly from her tongue, and she's not quite sure where they came from, or why she's telling her secretary such things. It's painful. Her chair sways from side to side as she tries to avoid all eye contact, running her index finger over her bruised hand.  
  
The dark haired woman opposite her takes a deep breath, visibly shocked by the emotions which have been entrusted to her. He's been snapping at Cathy a lot, Carol states.  
  
She fingers her neck, pulling hard at the necklace and looking out the window. Oh. Why? Her words are crisp, cold, and she emphasises each one by yanking the chain taught against the back of her neck. Her secretary moves closer to the door.  
  
Deliberate. Be angry. Be whatever feels best, but don't, whatever you do, _don't_ stand around in silence. The door closes behind Carol, and CJ notices that the chain is loose in her hand, because at don't' she must have ripped the clasp. She fingers it delicately, running the soft metal through her hands. She knows it's time to fix the one who really made her fortunate, so she drops the necklace onto the desk, watches as it slides down from the corner of the surface, weight dragging it towards the floor like a tiny anchor.  
  
~* *~  
  
It's been work, and a briefing she can't remember a moment of, and some conversation with Leo about tax rebates. She never saw him for the rest of the day, not once. She fumbles with her keys, trying to locate the one for the front door among the mass. Eventually she enters, gratefully throwing her briefcase and other items on the nearby chair, noticing that the red light on the answer machine is flashing. She habitually pushes the replay button and walks into the kitchen to examine the contents of the refrigerator. Food doesn't really appeal this late in the evening, but then it hasn't for two weeks.  
  
She hears a loud beep, and pauses in front of the cool air streaming from the open door, ready to identify the voice, but it's just blank sound and nothingness until the next tone. Confused, she steps back out to the living room to scrutinise the machine for its silence. It is silent after the second tone as well, and she knows that the volume is turned up, and the indicator only said two messages, so all she is left with is static and abandoned communication.   
  
She collapses into the comfortable chair by the telephone, gazing intently at the flashing button as though she could will it to speak to her. She studies the dark blue line running across the side of her hand, and when the machine doesn't speak to her she hits it hard as she's never been technically minded, and that seems to work sometimes. It feels good too.  
  
It's still silent fifteen minutes later besides the faint noises from outside, and she probably left the refrigerator door open, but she doesn't mind, doesn't care anymore, so she breathes deeply, punches in star followed by six and nine, and listens to a computer generated voice tell her who called her. Twice.  
  
~To Be Continued~  
  
--------------------------------  
  
Visit the author's website at : http://cappuccinogirl.com  
Feedback as always to cappuccinogirlie@hotmail.com


	3. A Teasing Distance

ateasingdistance 

A Teasing Distance   
  
Author: Cappuccino Girl  
  
Genre: CJ/Sam. Angst. Drama.  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: The characters still aren't mine. They belong to Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions and Warner Bros. The song is Every Breath You Take, by Sting.  
  
Notes: Follows Complicated Piece and Abandoned Communication.  
  
Thanks: Eris, for the many 1 AM calls to cure writer's block. Honey, you rock, and I will make you write your own!  
Jess, I've thought because' all the time ;-) This one comes complete with duct tape.   
  
Summary: I used to feel like a kid in a china shop. I couldn't keep my eyes off you all evening, every time we had one of these functions, and it was always you may look, but don't touch' and it killed me, in fact, it still does.  
  
  
  
  
I'm alive, incase you were wondering, she says wearily, struggling for words, and she wishes he wasn't standing in the doorway to her apartment, because she's missed this more than she can ever explain.  
  
So I see, he states awkwardly as he enters, closing the door behind him.  
  
They stand face to face for a while, not speaking, just looking, observing, for they've never been ones to apologise. She starts to smile, and he feels as though the sun has risen for the first time in weeks.  
  
Why didn't you speak? she questions quietly, moving closer to him.  
  
It just- I couldn't. I wanted to so badly, but each time I heard your voice on the tape and you sounded so cheerful when you recorded it. I tried to say something, and nothing came out.   
  
She looks at the floor for a second, carefully choosing her words. That's okay. Nothing's good sometimes.  
  
He puts his arms around her and kisses her ever so gently on the mouth, as though he is asking permission for what he is about to tell her. But not always. He's noticed a tear falling down her cheek, and kisses her where it falls, holding her like she'd run away if he didn't.  
  
I'm so sorry, she whispers before reciprocating his gesture, kissing him deeply, while he runs his hands over her body in reverence of her perfect flaws.   
  
She looks more worn than she did when they parted that night, and that scares him, because he thought she couldn't get any lower without falling down completely. Maybe she did.  
  
I'll be right back. She speaks softly, and he holds onto her hand for as long as he can. As she walks across the room, he can't help but think how, in spite of everything, she hasn't lost her grace, and watching her move is like water and air and floating.   
  
He takes a seat perched on the edge of her couch, looking at the family pictures on the end table, and when that tires him a little, he moves towards the cabinet which holds the cd player. Maybe it's boyish curiosity, but he finds himself pushing play, listening to a familiar melody which fills the room.  
  
_Every breath you take, and every move you make, every bind you break, every step you take, I'll be watching you._   
  
He listens for a moment, but has to stop it, not sure why, so he just stands in front of the cabinet, staring blankly at the wall. The words run through his head until he hears the sound of her feet on the floor, and when he turns around, she's standing before him, wearing something sheer, and blue silk. He wishes she wasn't wearing anything at all, and all he can do is look at her because she seems almost too pretty for him to touch.  
  
he says, sighing because he hasn't taken a breath for a minute.  
  
She smiles back at him. You've never called me that before, she comments as they lean in for a kiss. So it's lips meeting, his hands on her back, on her breasts, as she unbuttons his shirt, kissing every part of his body she exposes. It's forgiveness, and effortless, and true. His hand runs up her shoulder, and he traces her collar bone with his tongue, slowly removing the threads of fabric which hold the gown on her delicate frame. He pulls her towards him and they roll onto the couch as blue silk slides down slowly to the floor.   
  
~* *~  
  
He runs his finger along her stomach and hips which are barely showing through the tangle of sheets surrounding them. She's smiling, blissfully content.   
  
Think they've noticed? she questions cryptically, as she rolls over to him.  
  
His eyebrows raise quizzically.   
  
These months. How we've changed. He brushes her hair out of her face to reveal her eyes, eyelids fluttering shut as he showers her with kisses.  
  
He takes her hand confidently. Think we ought to go public?  
  
She moves away a little so she can study his expression. Yeah, cause that's just what we need right now.   
  
He's about to say something, so she places her finger on his lips, only moving it when she's sure he won't comment.   
  
Let's leave things as they are for now.   
  
He moves closer and embraces her. Please stay, he whispers, promising her safety and fidelity as he watches her fall asleep beside him.  
  
  
~* *~  
  
You seen my pager? she calls from the bathroom, words muffled by the toothbrush in her mouth.  
  
No, but we both got the same message anyway, he says, straddling the doorway. See, you've got to appreciate these unexpected practicalities.  
  
She takes the brush out of her mouth so that she's able talk clearly to emphasise her words. Such as identical pager messages?  
  
He nods emphatically, moving close to her. Yes, and having me make you coffee and toast in the mornings.  
  
She leans over the sink and rinses out her mouth, spitting the water into the basin before explaining. I don't do breakfast, Samuel. She dabs her face with a towel.  
  
What do you mean? he questions.   
  
Her back is towards him while she fixes her hair, but she can still see his every expression from the reflection in the mirror. Exactly what I said. I don't do breakfast.   
  
She tosses her hairbrush into a small wicker basket on the shelf before spinning around and sauntering out the open door, gliding past him and the exasperated look on his face.  
  
You know, you really should. He calls after her.  
  
She stops before the wardrobe and turns around. What time is it?  
  
He's visibly confused, but complies none the less.   
  
She swings the door open to reveal a colorful wave of blues, reds and greys, the vast collection of expensive ball gowns he's admired her in. Her fingers flick past them until she gets to the more practical aspects of her closet, and picks out a coat while talking. 5.55 AM. Now, no sane person is about to go to work at 5.55, are they Sam? Most are asleep, and I really should be, as should you for that matter.   
  
She tosses the coat to him, and closes the door, purposefully making a move for the hallway. Breakfast really isn't my thing. Anyway, if you aren't here, I tend to go for a run in the morning, and my experience has taught me that food just doesn't work, either before or after.   
  
She rummages through the items on the table, gathering her car keys and shoving them into her pocket. A few sheets of paper fall to the floor to reveal her pager, which she thrusts into his face before it joins the keys.   
  
Opening the front door, she raises her eyebrows, questioning. So, you just going to stand there?   
  
He hands her the laptop. You should eat more.  
  
She rolls her eyes at him, stuffing the laptop under her arm.  
  
  
  
she states, moving out the door.   
  
He hands it to her as she leaves.He's standing in the doorway looking perplexed. This is just like being married, he calls out after her.  
  
The sound of her shoes echo through the stairwell. Don't leave before 6.15, or they'll get suspicious, she comments before the main door slams shut behind her.  
  
~* *~  
  
  
  
I've gotten word through back channels of some story brewing in the offices of Senator Miers, Sam reads from his note pad. It's probably the first time that morning that he's stopped looking at her across the room. He's watched intently as she ate a bagel, and scalded her tongue on the coffee which now sits on Leo's desk, no doubt going cold because she isn't about to test it again.   
  
She was flipping her pen around between her index and middle finger like a baton twirler while the others talked, and he watched with unaltering fascination, because every aspect of her captivates him. She has been taking more notes than usual, as she's scared of seeming unprofessional. She's brilliant at covering up, he thinks.  
  
Yes, he's giving a press conference at 11, she answers, looking deliberately towards Leo so she won't smile. I haven't got any further information, but I doubt he'll do more than discuss relevant issues. You know these kind of things, at most it'll be another mindless publicity stunt on his behalf.  
  
Which is precisely why we'll all be taking notes, Toby comments in his usual pessimistic way.  
  
Leo nods in agreement. Ok, that's it then. He moves his arms about to dismiss them, and they scatter like leaves in the fall wind. Sam remains for a second longer, while CJ is eager to leave, and they each chuckle over the other's behavior.   
  
Leo looks down at him from his place behind the desk, his usual too-much-work-to-do' expression on his face, so Sam grabs his things in one quick swoop and exits.  
  
He can't avoid going past her office, for it's on his way, and it's when he is before her door, not entering, that he realises she was right last night, because everything has changed. Each visit to her office will feel like temptation, and each discussion like foreplay, and he knows she is aware of this also. His mouth forms a subtle smile before he goes towards his own desk around the corner.  
  
~* *~  
  
She's sitting there at her desk, feet up on its surface, waiting for the Senator's conference. It's a confident pose, one she hasn't struck in a long time. She's replaying last night in her head, thinking of the choices they made without uttering a word, and she wishes they weren't interlaced with uncertainty. Already now she's squirming a little, because tonight is yet another formal occasion; he'll be in a tux, she in a dress, and it's always different then, even if it is just small talk and flirtatious glances.  
  
She tosses the notes she had planned on reading back onto the desk, replacing them with some blank paper and a pen, turning up the volume as the Senator's face appears. In her usual style, she writes notes for the press gaggle in two hours time, letting the monotone words coming from the TV run through her while she writes something totally unrelated. She's perfected the skill, and she knows he admires her for it.  
  
It's common knowledge that the President was influenced in his decision by the First Lady.  
  
Her attention leaps to that on the television. She twirls the end of the pen she is holding in her mouth, totally alert.  
  
She's always been very influential in this administration, more so than most senior White House staffers.  
  
Her eyes widen, and she rolls them a little. She's focusing on her door now too, because she can anticipate who will storm through there in the next few seconds.  
  
The door whips open. Turn up the volume.  
  
She complies. Quiet Toby. We have to like, hear this before we can discuss.   
  
He stands there impatiently, tapping his foot. She's still sitting behind her desk, expression unaltered.  
  
My question is, do we want some unelected person who is known to be very radical when it comes to issues of drug control and abortion rights to be so influential that she might as well have her finger on the button?  
  
The two exchange knowing looks.  
  
~* *~  
  
What the hell was going on there? Toby fumes.  
  
Josh strolls into the conference room, slightly too at ease considering the situation. We just got screwed on national TV, but that doesn't matter. We're used to it by now.  
  
Great Josh, I think that's what I'll tell the White House press corps when I have to brief in less than an hour, CJ snaps, trying to get fully into her public persona because she knows that she won't be able to survive today without it.  
  
I'm just saying that-   
  
It's brilliant that you are saying something Josh. Unfortunately, it's so useless that we don't really care, Toby retorts.   
  
Sam marches through the open door, barely looking at CJ seated across the room from him. The First Lady pushes all the buttons? he yells.  
  
Apparently so. We all do nothing, while Abby, you know, pushes buttons, and- Josh rambles on until Leo's stern fatherly look cuts him off.  
  
We've got to respond, he states.  
  
I've got less than an hour before the briefing, so you'd better start throwing ideas my way. CJ's voice wavers slightly, and Sam can't help but notice this. He wishes he could just reach out and hold her, try and give her some support. Instead he just looks at her hands as they gesture frantically while she speaks.   
  
The Office of the President, and that of the First Lady, while not entirely separate offices, are totally independent of each other. You are to stress that. Leo glances at his desk for a moment, hoping to find some know-all answers laid out before him. He sighs when he sees the documents he has to sign instead. The Senior White House Staff always advise the President, as does the First Lady, but she under no circumstances forces him to make decisions against his will.  
  
Don't use Sam tells her in a matter of fact tone. She nods in response, and it's all business once more, and she can hardly recall that they woke in the same bed some hours before.  
  
~* *~  
  
She stands in the hall which leads to the briefing room, looking at her feet, tapping her files against her thigh. She's trying her best to look confident, but she knows she's failing miserably because they've all piled on the pressure, assuming she won't crumble under the load. Everything she has heard scampers through her head, and she tries to organise a million perfect responses for all the unasked questions.  
  
She's so lost in panic-stricken thoughts that she barely notices a hand on her shoulder.  
  
You okay?  
  
She spins around, startled, and gasps a little when she sees him. I didn't notice you there.  
  
All work now, isn't it? he comments, trying not to talk about what is obviously plaguing her thoughts.  
  
She nods, fiddling with the binding of her notepad.  
  
You'll be fine. I'll be there in the next room watching you.  
  
She sighs heavily and looks at him, wishing for once that someone would take her place. You and a couple million others, all nice and easy. I'm going to be the one fending off the questions, trying my best not to make the administration look like a farce.  
  
He takes her hand and holds it close to him. And you are so brilliant at it. Every time I see how you manage them, taking it all in your stride, I just- He pauses for a moment, for he can feel her hand shaking, and he knows it's her restless nerves. You'll be fine, because I'll be watching, blowing you a thousand kisses for luck. Now go. Go and kick some ass. He grins.  
  
She does her best to look positive, if only to please him. I'd accept an actual kiss now, but people might notice us, she whispers before walking into the briefing room.  
  
See you later,he says, a barely detectable tone of longing in his voice. You do have a dress, don't you? he calls out just as she's about to go through the doorway, and she waves her arms about, trying not to confuse public and private at such a moment, but it's on her mind throughout the entire briefing. She's surprised by how well it works, and whenever she feels she might lose her composure, she imagines him there beside her, comforting her.  
  
~* *~  
  
They've thrown the questions at her like ping pong balls, all rapid fire and no relent. Her head pounds as she enters her office, the time now 6.25 pm. There are too many hours in the day, she thinks, as she flips through the multi-colored post-it notes left on her desk, arranging them in order of importance. Opening the top drawer of her desk, she finds the bottle of Tylenol and swallows two down with the remainder of the bottled water on her desk. She doubts she'll get home at all tonight, which is typical, seeing as she's found new pleasure in going home.  
  
a voice calls from outside. Carol stands there holding a garment bag. She hands it to her.  
  
Thanks. I'll go get changed now so I can deal with these few things before the German Chancellor arrives at the dinner. She places her glasses on the desk, and waves the notes around, empahasising her point. She moves out of her office, past Carol, flinging the bag and its no doubt exorbitant contents over her arm. She's too mentally exhausted to care, relieved that nothing worse happened that day, for she doubts she would be standing any more if something had.  
  
The First Lady wanted to speak with you, her secretary mentions as she leaves.  
  
Okay, I'll talk it through with her at the function in an hour, CJ states before walking out of sight.  
  
~* *~  
  
He stands there in the middle of the corridor, fiddling with his bow tie a little because he's always been a jeans guy.  
  
a voice comments, and he turns around to see Abby's approving face. Before he has the chance to respond to the compliment, Josh whisks into the hallway in similar attire.   
  
We do look good, don't we? he questions.  
  
You ask this every time Josh, but yeah, you do. She flicks her hair out of her face. You seen CJ? she asks, watching Sam do a turn on his axis at the sound of those two letters.  
  
Who, me? he stammers. No, why?  
  
I need to talk to her, make sure we get our stories straight.  
  
Sam does his best to shake his head, struggling with involuntary reflexes. 'kay. I'll let her know if I, you know, see her.  
  
The First Lady smiles, takes his hand and squeezes it before leaving to trace down whomever is next on her schedule. If I don't see you later, have fun.  
  
The two men share identical expressions.  
  
~* *~  
  
She's typing at her computer once more, trying to focus on the last scraps of work she must complete, and her head is still aching despite the painkillers. She crumples up another sheet of notes and chucks it into the nearby trash can.  
  
She doesn't want to be working now, for, in spite of her throbbing head, she feels really pretty, and she loved how heads turned to look at her as she walked down the corridor. All she can think of is walking into the room, and finding him standing there. She wishes it could be even more of a cliché, and they could dance all night, because she learnt to dance so many years ago for such an occasion, and it seems a pity to be unable to use that skill.  
  
The deep green fabric falls in gentle waves about her, and she fingers at it a little while, dreaming for a moment.  
  
A breath coming from the doorway causes her to take off her glasses and look up, and she finds him standing there in the doorway.  
  
I'm working Sam, she states defensively, doing her best not to betray her inner thoughts.  
  
He continues to stand motionless, eyes transfixed on every aspect of her. He can see she's weary, the strains of the day visible in her eyes.  
  
We'd better go, or they are going to wonder where we're at, he mentions, and is surprised by her quick response, tossing the pen onto the desk and rising from her chair.  
  
She moves out from behind her desk, can feel his eyes on her and it makes her skin flush. He enters, closing the door behind him as she walks closer to him until they are almost touching, a teasing distance between them.  
  
His eyes follow the delicate swoop of the dark emerald fabric over her chest, tracing the perfect silhouette before him. She brushes her hair out of her face, taking in the way he's looking at her, all blue eyes and transfixed.  
  
You shouldn't do this to me, he says, moving even closer.  
  
She breathes heavily.   
  
Look like you do right now. I used to feel like a kid in a china shop.   
  
She raises her eyebrows slightly, visibly confused.  
  
I couldn't keep my eyes off you all evening, every time we had one of these functions, and it was always you may look, but don't touch' and it killed me, in fact, it still does. He sighs, and runs his fingers down her cheek, leans closer, and kisses her gently.  
  
He moves away a little, saying, They are going to wonder where we are.  
  
But spending the whole evening here would be far more enjoyable than superficial small talk and having to see you in a tux, wishing I could rip it off you all night. She pulls him back to her, kissing him deeply once more and he runs his hands over her back, wishing they weren't separated by the slick fabric.  
  
They lean over the desk, almost lying down upon the papers, pens and pictures. They move slightly, causing a mass of files to float towards the floor, papers flying around them. She sees it from the corner of her eyes, but barely registers. She's sure there is another sound mixed with that of falling leaves. He kisses her along the slope of her neck, listening to her sigh.  
  
CJ, I just wanted to talk about the press confer- A familiar voice interrupts the daydream.  
  
~To Be Continued~  
  
-----------------------------------  
Feedback as always to cappuccinogirlie@hotmail.com  
Visit the author's website at http://cappuccinogirl.com  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. The Boy-From-Next-Door Routine

The Boy-From-Next-Door Routine  
  
Author: Cappuccino Girl  
  
Genre: CJ/Sam. Angst. Drama.  
Rating: R for language and some serious necking.  
Spoilers: None, but I assume you have been watching.  
Disclaimer: As you can probably guess, the characters aren't mine. That's why when you watch the show on TV, it credits Aaron Sorkin, and ends with the John Wells Productions and Warner Bros. logos.  
  
Notes: Follows A Teasing Distance.   
This has been an interesting instalment for me to write, especially due to my having lost the perfect ending and needing to rewrite it. Thanks, Eris, for being so wonderfully supportive during my little computer nightmare :-), and to all of you who have begged for me to write this next instalment.  
  
Summary: That's all it takes.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
They lean over the desk, almost lying down upon the papers, pens and pictures. They move slightly, causing a mass of files to float towards the floor, papers flying around them. She sees it from the corner of her eyes, but barely registers. She's sure there is another sound mixed with that of falling leaves. He kisses her along the slope of her neck, listening to her sigh.  
  
CJ, I just wanted to talk about the press confer- A familiar voice interrupts the daydream.  
  
~* *~  
  
They fly apart, shooting to opposite ends of the room, the desk acting as a barrier between them. Her cheeks burn and she knows she's gone scarlet. He's shoved his hands into his pockets, putting them away so they won't get him into any more trouble. Both of their eyes are fixed on the figure of the First Lady standing in the doorway.  
  
Abby's eyes dart between the two of them, unsure of how to start any conversation, as she's forgotten what she planned to ask.  
  
Getting ready for the function, were you? she questions after a moment's silence, giving them both appraising stares.  
  
CJ tries to nod, but nothing happens.   
  
Um, yeah, Sam murmurs under his breath.  
  
The First Lady enters the office, and the walls seem a lot closer than they used to be.   
  
I assume this wasn't common knowledge? she asks casually, waving a hand about to clarify.  
  
The two shake their heads.  
  
No, ma'am, it wasn't, CJ states, once again reverting to her role of resident spokesperson.  
  
Abby nods. Her brow furrows, utterly confused by what she has just witnessed.  
  
Sam and CJ have moved closer together now, and he's taken her hand. While uncertainty clings to the air around them, Abby can't help but notice a mutual adoration between the two. I'll see you at the dinner. She walks out, turning around when she's almost left the room. You'd better be slightly more restrained in there, or we could have a minor alteration in tomorrow's news cycle, she mentions.  
  
Yes, ma'am.  
  
They are alone once more, but it doesn't feel like it. She's staring at him, pulling out of his hold and moving her hands behind her back. Her stance has altered completely. He's confused, moves closer to her when she tries to step away.  
  
he whispers.  
  
Don't. Don't come closer. _Don't_ do anything. She cries, and he notices the pain in her eyes. How could I be so stupid? How could we be so stupid as to- She crumples into the nearest chair.  
  
he exclaims. It wasn't stupid. It was two sensible adults acting on impulse. How were we to know that the First Lady was going to waltz in here?  
  
Maybe because this is the White House? she snaps, anger at herself replacing the initial shock. No one was supposed to know, she says into her hands, which now cover her face so he can't see if she's crying.  
  
He stands helplessly before her, wishing he'd read some book which would explain her every complexity to him, so he would know what he should do in such a situation. He scratches the back of his neck, eyes focused on the floor, for he knows she doesn't want him to witness her anxiety.   
  
Oh God, Sam, she exclaims. What happens if more people find out?  
  
He gives her a critical stare. Is that so terrible? Anyway, who is the First Lady going to tell besides maybe the President, or a few senior staffers?  
  
She scrunches up a sheet of paper, watches as her knuckles turn white from the pressure. That's all it takes.  
  
All it takes for what?   
  
She throws the ball of paper into the waste basket, and, finding some hidden strength, rises weakly from the chair. She tosses her hair back, and wipes a finger over her eyes, glad that she had the sense to wear waterproof mascara. We need to go now, she states, fixing her dress before walking out the door.  
  
He can see her force the transformation to flow through her. It is as though she could kid herself into leaving her personal life behind in the office like a cloak or some accessory she only wears occasionally, and when she walks out into the hallway she is CJ Cregg, White House Press Secretary' once more. She's poised, proud, and except for a hint of red in her eyes, nothing reveals the fear she carries with her.  
  
~* *~  
  
She stands in the center of the crowded room taking a sip of the wine she is holding, wishing it was something far stronger. She's oblivious to the many eyes fixed on her perfect image because she is too deep in thought, and that scares her, for she might blurt something out should anyone approach her to talk.   
  
He's leaning against one of the white pillars, trying his best to focus on a conversation with the German ambassador, but he can't stop wondering what she could be thinking behind her mask. He wishes they could discuss everything, but he knows she's never been one to do that. As he watches her move towards someone Leo is talking with, he considers how much she must value her work, because no one that he's known has ever caused so much pain to themselves in order to retain perfect credentials. She will have it all, and if she can't, then she'll be damn sure that it appears that way. She's incredible, he muses to himself.  
  
a gruff voice calls behind her, and she spins around to see Toby and Josh. Did Mrs. Bartlet find you?  
  
She wishes that the moment might not constantly haunt her, that she could continue as though nothing at all had happened. Him. Her. Hands. Lips. Passion. Panic.   
  
She tucks a strand of stray hair behind her ear while talking. Yes, she did. She notices the diagonal marble tiles on the floor in alternating black and white, and it makes her head spin even more profusely than it had before.   
  
Well, all we can do is hope that we won't get any more trouble in the next few months, Josh offers optimistically, and it makes her shiver slightly, for she fears she could provide some.  
  
Josh pauses for a moment, and looks her over before questioning. You okay, CJ? You look a little, I don't know, faint, or something.  
  
She glances up at him, horrified that he's noticed, because it means that her cover isn't working. Yeah, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be? She flicks her hair back and forces a smile.  
  
His eyes focus on her empty wine glass with the delicate smudge of lipstick around the rim. You want another? She nods gratefully and follows him towards the bar, standing besides him as he collects their drinks. In an almost childlike gesture, she gingerly accepts the deep burgundy liquid.  
  
he comments casually as they walk across the room before taking their place at a corner table. She nods, and sinks down into the chair, tossing the folds of fabric around her like a protective veil, and she's questioning her common sense for even sitting at a table with him.  
  
She nods and takes another sip, thinking of scandals and shame. Her shoulders slip forward and she stares into the glass.   
  
You sure you're okay? Josh questions, touching her gently on the arm.  
  
She blinks, startled. Yes, of course. Her eyes wander towards Sam for a few minutes, and she wishes she could be so carefree. I'm just going to, you know, go deal with something, she mentions, before rising once again and making a move towards the glass doors.   
  
From across the room, he watches her depart in a haze of silk as she drifts out the doors that lead outside. He finds it funny that his first thought isn't why she might be going out, but that it's freezing cold.  
  
Would you excuse me. He moves swiftly to the doors.  
  
Josh calls from his seat at the table, but he doesn't even notice.  
  
He fusses with the temperamental handle for a moment before it opens for him, and when he steps out he gasps, as he's sure it's colder than he remembers.  
  
She stands motionlessly by the trees at the opposite end of the lawn, her shadow making her look like something out of an old film, all mystery and elegance.   
  
He moves purposefully towards her. he calls, but she doesn't respond, not even when he's right behind her.  
  
Her arms are wrapped around her waist, and she's staring at something. Maybe it's that which she wishes she could see. He doesn't know, so he says what he is sure of. You shouldn't be out here like that.  
  
And you shouldn't be out here at all, she says dryly, her breath freezing as she speaks.   
  
He places his arm around her, and she shivers before brushing it off. Don't do that. I don't need any more trouble than I already have, she speaks lifelessly into the dark before her.  
  
Trouble? You don't have troubles, you just have a fear of admitting the truth, he says from behind her.  
  
And that is?  
  
That you love me and are scared of how that appears.  
  
She spins around, her angry eyes sparkling as fiercely in the dim light as the jewels around her neck. Don't you dare feed me all your emotionally accessible bullshit again Sam, she says harshly, her eyes fixed intently on his.  
  
He responds with an earnest look of his own before commenting. God, you're beautiful.  
  
  
  
When you're like this, all full of contradictions, he continues, in spite of her angered expression, and he can't stop himself from running his hand down the side of her face.  
  
She turns away again slightly. You can't just pull your boy-from-next-door routine with me, Samuel.  
  
You think? he murmurs before leaning in to kiss her.  
  
She only lets it last for two seconds, yet it doesn't seem cold outside anymore. Are you crazy? she half whispers, half yells. Getting caught once is enough for tonight.  
  
he gloats, grinning, and she can't help but admit that his ways are infectious, and that she's happier now that she feels she should be.  
  
Her eyebrow arches, demanding further explanation.  
  
All contradictions. It's fucking amazing. He moves towards her again, and she spins around playfully in response.  
  
she giggles without losing her assertive tone. Not here.  
  
The office? he mentions unhelpfuly.  
  
Yeah, you're a real genius.   
  
He can tell she's smiling even though part of her face is obscured by the darkness. You should do that more often. They say it's healthy, you know.  
  
How do you do this? I'm about ready to, I don't know, kill myself, and then you come out here, all Prince Charming, and then- Damn. How do you do that? She looks at him sincerely.  
  
We can ditch the party. No one will notice, he remarks spontaneously without answering her question.  
  
She bites her lower lip. The corners of her mouth form a delicate smile, and they depart in opposite directions.   
  
~* *~  
  
He pokes the key around, trying to locate the lock without looking, like a baby trying to fit the square block into the circular hole. They stand sideways, leaning against the closed door of his apartment, and her hand fumbles to undo his bow tie.   
  
When the lock clicks open, they fall over each other into the darkened room, their clothes crumpled, an attractive mess. She pushes his jacket back, and sends it flying across the smooth floor. His fingers move down her shoulders, gently running them under the emerald fabric which barely covers her upper arms.  
  
The door, she whispers. He lifts his leg back, and forcefully kicks it shut, while continuing to fuss with the zipper to her dress.   
  
She undoes each of his shirt buttons, celebrating each open button with kisses, as he moves his hands over her back, pulling her close. The political risks looming over them act like a stimulant, and their kisses deepen.   
  
His shirt opened, she strokes her fingers over that which she has uncovered. He glides his tongue down her chest, taking in the smell of her perfume, and her every move.  
  
We should agree on what we will say if anyone- she moans as his hands cup her breasts, teasing her nipple. asks about our relationship.  
  
Uh huh. His shirt falls to the ground, and they move across the living room, towards the open bedroom door.  
  
Because, you know, we must be prepared, as we are very important people. She whispers into his ear, while she tries to free him of his pants.   
  
He slips his fingers under her silk dress, pulling it lower, until it falls, a sea of deep green pooling at her ankles.   
  
I'd like us to be one of those- she gasps as his fingers run expertly over her. Inconspicuous couples, who don't draw attention to their relationship.   
  
She does her best not to trip over the dress still wrapped around her feet, as they step into the bedroom. He grabs her ass, pulling her onto covers.   
  
We'll just have to be very discreet about this, she gasps, before kissing him deeply, their bodies intertwined on the white sheets.   
  
They fuss to quickly remove any of the remaining clothing which separates them, his hands mapping her body as he does so. His fingers dance up her thighs, and he watches as her head falls back, showing the slope of her neck.   
  
We need to be honest, he whispers in between kissing down her neck. I'll inform everyone at staff tomorrow, and get it over with.  
  
Her head flips forward at the sound of his words, hair swept across her face. She shoves him forcefully across the bed.  
  
Excuse me?  
  
~ To Be Continued ~  
  
  
-------------------------------------------  
Feedback as always to cappuccinogirlie@hotmail.com  
Visit the author's website at http://cappuccinogirl.com  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. And So They Part

And So They Part   
  
Author: Cappuccino Girl  
  
Rating: PG-13  
Genre: CJ/Sam. Angst. Drama.  
Disclaimer: The West Wing and its characters are the property of Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions and Warner Bros.  
Spoilers: Complicated: A Series. Parts 1-4. The Crackpots and These Women. Mr Willis of Ohio. ITSOTG.  
  
Notes: Follows The Boy-From-Next-Door Routine.  
Thanks as always to my beta readers. Sometimes I think I've hit this creative wall, and then ten million ideas will bounce back, and you always help me chose the best ones :-)  
  
  
Summary: So you now you're throwing ultimatums my way?   
  
  
  
  
  
The apprehensive looks flying between the two of them would be far more suited to a jury verdict, or the last lap of Kentucky Derby when you have bet $50,000 on the least popular horse, but here they are in senior staff. He's studying the way she has balanced a pen, paper, laptop, and cup of coffee on her lap, and it causes him to ponder last night and its more pleasant moments. Feeling obliged to contribute to the conversation, he drops some casual comment in his usual quirky tone about what Senator Miers' office has said in response to yesterday's press conference. As he opens his mouth, she flinches a little, shifting in her chair, for she doesn't quite trust his verbal subtlety.   
  
Toby's standing right behind her, and when she fidgets for the sixth time in two minutes, he rests his hand on her shoulder, out of habit more than anything else. She looks up at him, and gives him an appraising stare.  
  
We don't need to stoop to the same lows as he did, Josh responds.  
  
And we won't be doing that, Leo offers. At the same time, it is unacceptable to have to deal with such unproved allegations.  
  
Have you seen this? Josh waves a paper around.  
  
What is it? Toby questions, walking towards Leo's desk to collect one of the many letters which lay scattered upon it.  
  
Comments further supporting the Senator's accusations.  
  
CJ squints a little. In the paper?  
  
  
  
Which one?   
  
Washington Post. Mentions the- You can't tell this is the Washington Post? He holds the paper up by both top corners like a placard.  
  
She purses her lips, wishing she didn't have to explain. No, I- Bad lens day, and I seem to have misplaced my glasses.   
  
Toby chuckles.  
  
she asks, confused.  
  
Just keep away from pools, he says dryly.  
  
She rolls her eyes at him.   
  
Well, what with the party, and that time at your house, you do have quite a reputation for... He lets his expression finish the sentence for him.  
  
Gee, thanks Toby. I'd have thought you would have wanted to rush me to the nearest one so you'd have the joys of witnessing me in wet clothes again, she comments, trying to keep her eyes focused on the sheets of paper on her lap, but failing miserably.  
  
Sam shoots her a slightly aggravated look, but it is missed amidst the laughter that rings around the room.  
  
Now that would be a welcome treat, Toby says under his breath.  
  
The paper, Sam states, in an attempt to halt the conversation between the two.  
  
  
  
Josh continues to read out the article, until Leo groans that they are wasting far too much time, and should just get on with the day.  
  
Everyone's been briefed enough yesterday. Let's just take today as it comes, Leo says in a tone of finality that unmistakably indicates the end of the meeting.  
  
CJ rises from her chair, giving Toby an exasperated smile, and he grins back smugly before they both depart to their offices.   
  
  
~* *~  
  
  
She's collecting memos from Carol when Sam walks up to her, grabs her by the arm, and takes her to the office, closing the door behind him.  
  
Can't keep you hands to yourself? she teases.  
  
Yeah. Anyway, he states clearly.  
  
Thanks for not saying anything about us at staff.  
  
It was nice of me, wasn't it? he questions. Without giving her time to respond, he continues, moving closer to her desk. I wasn't obliged to, but I didn't say anything. There weren't even any hints.  
  
No, there weren't, she mumbles, scanning the memos she is holding.  
  
I was subtle. Very subtle. Would have been nice if you could have been equally subtle with Toby.  
  
What about Toby?  
  
The whole pool thing.  
  
Yeah, why did he have to bring that up? God, she sighs, sinking into her chair.  
  
You played along quite nicely.  
  
She looks up, straining her eyes so she can see his face clearly. Are you- You're jealous? She smiles a little.   
  
  
  
You think I was flirting with Toby, and you're jealous, she laughs, tossing the notices she'd picked up onto the desk, where they obscure her laptop.  
  
He looks feebly at her, not quite wanting to admit to such a thing verbally.  
  
That's so sweet, she beams, and stands up, reaching forward to kiss him gently on the cheek. You know it's just teasing.  
  
I do, but there is-  
  
She cuts in. I know, a past. You can say it. But that was so long ago, and now it's just my toying with him, because I know that... She decides it's best not to continue her thought.  
  
You know that what? he asks, holding her hand, considering the blue ink stain on her index finger.  
  
She moves back a step. You were really jealous?  
  
He nods.  
  
I like that, she states simply, taking her seat once more.  
  
You like that I'm jealous?  
  
Her tone is sincere. It's nice to know that I'm not the only insecure one in this... She struggles with the word for a moment.   
  
I'm not insecure. He straightens his tie, and stops leaning on the desk so that he's taller.   
  
You're just jealous.  
  
He strolls to the door. I have work to do.   
  
She waves her hand over her never-ending stack. So do I.   
  
He stands motionless by the door, wishing they didn't have to go through another day in the same building, yet apart.  
  
She can read his thoughts for they seem to mirror her own, so she stands up and walks purposefully towards him. They kiss deeply at the door, savoring these few moments.  
  
She moves her hand down his chest. You should probably go now, she says, her cheeks flushed.  
  
He nods, and opens the door.  
  
And remember, I don't kiss and tell, and neither should you. She whisks the door shut, beaming again.  
  
  
~* *~  
  
He's watching her press conference on tv, which seems strange seeing as she's in the same building as him, but he loves looking at her. The way she points to specific reporters in the crowd, how she intersperses facts with humor. It's her style, a little artificial, but there are elements of her true self hidden within it. Now she's turning the page of her notes, touching her finger with the tip of her tongue as the sheets aren't separating. He's about ready to rush into the briefing room and jump her, but then common sense takes over, so he resorts to making eyes at her image on the tv screen instead.  
  
~* *~  
  
she says to her assistant as they weave their way down the corridors from the press room. Senator Miers' comments on the Governor of Maine. Thanks for that.  
  
No problem.  
  
So, what's my schedule?  
  
Carol flips methodically through the list. I got you 15 minutes with the President at 12.30. Briefing on the UN Summit at 1.50. The gaggle again at 3, she examines a post-it which Cathy has just handed her while breezing past them. And Sam wants to see you ASAP. She pauses for a moment, giving her boss a knowing look.  
  
She can't help smiling a little.   
  
I never said anything, Carol protests, as CJ floats into Sam's office, leaving her secretary musing to herself.  
  
Hey, I got a message saying you wanted to see me, she says nonchalantly, closing the door behind her and then flipping through the files she is clutching.  
  
He stands up, smacks his laptop shut, and moves over to kiss her gently on the cheek. I hate to break it to you, but the reason is work related.  
  
Work, or She emphasises the difference with a gesture.  
  
No, _real_ work. You've got the briefing on the UN Summit this afternoon, right?  
  
She takes a seat before replying. Yes, 1.50.  
  
Okay, well, sometime we've got to fit in some time to discuss the proposed revisions to employment legislation, and I'd rather it was before your next press briefing.   
  
She glances at her watch. I've got 25 minutes now. You free?  
  
Speech to write. Papers to read. 37 phone calls to make. Yeah, I'm free.  
  
She playfully slaps his arm.   
  
He pulls his folder out marked Employment 2001' in big black letters, and she presses her fingers to her temples in protest. The joys of the job.  
  
I guess you could call it that. Could be worse, I suppose, say the census.  
  
But you understand that now, don't you? he questions slyly.  
  
Everything, but you never did tell me how many people actually live in this country, she says, and they share a laugh. Ok, start explaining. She holds his fascinated gaze until they are interrupted by the door opening to reveal Cathy and Carol standing there.  
  
Carol sighs, evidently out of breath. There's a phone call for you.  
  
She looks up at her assistant. Can't it wait? We're in the middle of a meeting.  
  
Both Carol and Cathy shake their heads. It's very important.  
  
CJ reaches for the phone, irritated. CJ Cregg. Hey Matt, why are you... Her eyes close for a moment, a stunned expression painted across her face. What- How? I mean is she... The pen she is holding slides out of her hand. Where are you now? There is a moment of deathly silence. Sam watches her hands shake. Okay, I'll be there... Bye. She's trembling so much now that the receiver clatters down onto the desk.   
  
  
Three pairs of worried eyes watch her intently, hoping for an explanation. She tries to roll her eyes back slightly to stop herself from crying, and it works for a moment until she hears the words come from her mouth. That was my brother. I have to get to California. My mom was... Sam motions to Carol that she should leave, and when the door is shut, her tears flow like water, leaving little droplets on the pages which rest on her lap.  
  
~* *~  
  
Her eyes have dried now, but the expression on her face remains unchanged as she wanders lifelessly past Carol. Cancel all my meetings, and I need you to get me on the next flight to San Francisco.  
  
Her assistant nods. Carol questions quietly.  
  
My mom was in a car accident. They are prepping her for surgery right now, she says emotionlessly, and it feels like she's giving a miniature press briefing.   
  
Are you-?  
  
CJ nods. I'm fine, really. The lie stings as it rolls off her tongue, and she decides to evade further conversation by quickly gathering her things so she can go home to pack.  
  
  
~* *~  
  
  
Her bags are lined up beside the couch in a neat row of black and grey. She's hunched over the table, doing her best to write a relatively coherent note to her neighbor saying thanks, and in which cupboard he'll find the cat food. When she miss-spells the third word in two sentences, she scrunches it up and hurls it across the room. she yells, as the paper didn't make a satisfying breaking sound when it fell.  
  
The doorbell rings her out of her frustration, and she wipes her eyes before opening it.  
  
Sam reaches out and touches her face, gazing into her bloodshot eyes, asking for permission to enter. They don't speak, for neither one of them knows quite what to say, so she just goes back to the table to rewrite the message.   
  
He perches on the back of the couch, writing a little speech in his head.   
  
The pen refuses to write for her, so she scratches the tip hard against the paper. Why are you even here? It's like the four in the afternoon.  
  
He stands up, annoyed. I came to find out how you were and-  
  
Well, I'm still standing, so draw your own conclusions. She slams the pen down onto the table, and strolls towards the bags, running down her mental checklist.  
  
He hold her arm when it brushes past him, moves the hair off her face, and she feels herself breaking once more. He turns her towards him so he can hold her, and she's trembling all over.  
  
This was never supposed to happen, she whispers, and he moves his hand down her back, trying to comfort her.   
  
They are both silent, trying to understand each other's unspoken phrases. Come with me, she eventually says softly.  
  
You know I can't. He moves back a step.  
  
  
  
Don't be irrational, Claudia. I can't just say My girlfriend's mom's having major surgery. I'm taking some time off work.' He rushes his words, fearing some kind of retribution for his frankness.  
  
You could say that your close friend needs some support.  
  
We work for the White House. Be honest with yourself. She rummages through her purse for distraction while he continues talking. If you want me to go with you, I'm going to have to tell them.  
  
Her eyes dart up, hands on hips. Oh for God's sake! she cries.   
  
What? It's the truth. You know that. I know that. Just tell Leo, and he'll probably give me a couple of days off so I can be with you.  
  
Her arms wave about frantically. Oh, so you now you're throwing ultimatums my way? she yells, anger mixing with her pain. Get me when I'm down. Is that it?  
  
He's stunned, not sure how to respond. I was just suggesting-  
  
I know damn well what you were suggesting. You're manipulative, you know that?  
  
  
  
I said- she blurts.  
  
I heard you.  
  
Oh you did? Well, take it to heart Sam. I get enough bullshit like that from the press; I certainly don't need any from you.  
  
She tugs her coat on, tossing the scarf over her shoulder. He picks up her bags, which she swiftly snatches from him, marching towards the front door.   
  
I have a flight to catch, she states without turning around.  
  
So, do you want me to ask Leo? he asks confidently.  
  
She spins around, hurt burning her eyes. Fuck you, Samuel! The door slams shut behind her, making him jump.   
  
He looks longingly out the window as her car leaves the drive, and he wonders whether the sword which seems to cut their happiness will be just as sharp when she returns.  
  
  
~ To Be Continued ~  
  
-----------------------------------------------  
  
Feedback as always to: cappuccinogirlie@hotmail.com  
Visit the author's web site at http://cappuccinogirl.com  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Constant Becomes Variable

Constant Becomes Variable  
  
Author: Cappuccino Girl  
  
Rating: PG-13  
Genre: CJ/Sam. Angst. Drama  
Disclaimer: All the ones you recognise belong to Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions, and Warner Bros. The unfamiliar ones are mine.  
  
Notes: Follows And So They Part'  
This instalment has been a long time in the making, and I'll blame my other creative escapades for that. Eris, you are Da Woman. Thanks infinitely many times for your fab beta reading and little talks. I listened to Watershed by Indigo Girls so many times while writing this, that it really does deserve a mention too.   
  
Summary: CJ fixes his tie for him sometimes, and always carries an umbrella. And now she hangs up on me.  
  
  
The backyard would be nice; rushing through the cast iron gate which leads there, throwing the bags onto the terrace before walking through the open door, past the porch swing. The dogs, two golden retrievers, would wag their tails, letting out a few happy barks. They'd alert her family, who'd come to the kitchen, and it would be hugs and laughter, and she'd feel like she was 20 again.   
  
she speaks frantically into the pristine white of the hallway. I'm looking for Grace Cregg. She had a car accident, and is having surgery for, for-   
  
a familiar voice calls, and she spins around to see a tired face looking at her.  
  
Matt. Where is she? I asked the nurse and- she points, out of breath, and bends over a little to gather her strength again.   
  
Matthew reaches over and gives her a quick hug. She's out of surgery. Doctor said her condition is still critical as she's had severe head trauma and internal bleeding, he tells her as they stride down the hall. She's in the ICU and we can't go in yet. Next 48 hours are critical.   
  
She takes a deep breath, and grasps her brother's hand firmly. How's dad?  
  
He's pretty shook up, doing his best to see the glimmer of hope.   
  
They reach the screened windows of the room, and she finds herself gulping because it seems so familiar. After Josh she prayed each day that no one she knew would ever be in such a state again, yet now she is here, and it's family. she questions softly, resting her hand on his shoulder.  
  
He turns around and hugs her. I'm so glad you got here. Doctor says she's holding up well. He points towards the fragment of a woman connected to all the machines, and CJ does her best not to shudder at the sight.  
  
What about you? She smiles weakly, if only to make her father feel somewhat at ease.  
  
You know. He shrugs his shoulders, and ushers them across the room to take a seat. We can't go in, so we might as well be comfortable. You want something to drink?  
  
No thanks, I'm fine, she says, pondering how odd it should be that tragedy brings people close together.   
  
So, CJ, how's the press? her brother questions, trying to avoid an uncomfortable silence.  
  
Annoying as ever. And your computers?  
  
Good, slightly less profitable than twelve months ago, but fine nonetheless.  
  
When's David going to get here? she asks, pondering the absence of her younger brother.  
  
He called just before you arrived, her father fills in. Said his flight got delayed, but he expects to get here by 8.  
  
Nice having kids all over the country, isn't it? she jokes feebly.  
  
Hey, I get to see you more than him. TV has its-   
  
They are cut off by a ringing coming from CJ's bag and she rummages around to find her phone. She checks the glowing display, and when it says Sam', she clicks the button twice, hanging up without talking. Not important, she says quickly, dumping the phone back into her purse, smiling briefly out of habit.  
  
  
~* *~  
  
  
Donna calls from the other end of the corridor. You heard from CJ?  
  
The dark haired woman turns around. She phoned briefly yesterday evening. Sounded tired but positive.  
  
I'm glad to hear that, Donna smiles. Staff in ten.  
  
See you there, Carol calls after her. Oh, Donna? She walks back towards Carol's desk. Can you give these to Josh? She hands her a stack of files, and Donna does a confused spin around before deciding on the correct direction to leave.  
  
She weaves her way through the hallway, bumping into Sam, his hair dripping, water pearling on his coat. Forgot your umbrella?  
  
You could say that, he sighs  
  
Leo's looking for you.  
  
he says, wandering towards his office. Morning, Cathy.  
  
Hey Sam. Leo's looking for you, she says as he drops his things in a giant heap on the chair.  
  
So I heard. Anyone else request my presence?  
  
Cathy glances over her notepad. No, not yet, although give that an hour and I'm sure it will have changed.  
  
He fixes his tie, because he's sure it's crooked. I'm off to staff then.  
  
As he walks to his boss' office, he recalls how CJ fixes his tie for him sometimes, and always carries an umbrella. And now she hangs up on me, he thinks.   
  
Hey Margaret. He gives her a questioning glance.   
  
He's waiting, she states briefly because she's on the phone.  
  
Morning Leo, he says, closing the door behind him, and accepting Leo's invitation to take a seat. Gathered you wanted to see me.  
  
Leo places his reading glasses, along with the documents he is holding, onto the desk before taking a seat himself. Yeah. I was talking to CJ last night. Any idea why she didn't know about the information, which has leaked from the First Lady's office, confirming some of Senator Mier's allegations? Sam stares blankly at him. I assume you were going to inform her of all that, seeing as it doesn't quite fit into Toby's line of duty.  
  
Umm, I don't know.  
  
So was there some kind of misunderstanding between the two of you?  
  
His eyes flick around the increasingly hostile room. Who? Me and CJ? he gulps.  
  
No. You and Toby, Leo says casually, and Sam is relieved that the person seated across from him isn't angry.  
  
He shakes his head profusely, just as a knock sounds at the door.  
  
Come in, Leo bellows.  
  
Hey, Leo. We do have- Toby pokes his head around the door and stops talking when he sees Sam sitting there. Am I interrupting?  
  
Nah. Just talking about missed communication.  
  
Toby enters, muttering something inaudible under his breath.  
  
I called her, Sam states matter-of-factly, and two pairs of eyes are suddenly fixed on him.  
  
Leo asks, confused.  
  
I called her. I didn't forget, he continues, and he's starting to wonder when the shovel for the hole he finds himself digging became invisible.   
  
You didn't. Then why didn't she-? Leo's brow furrows, while Toby stands smugly there, enjoying the entertainment he predicts will follow.  
  
She hung up on me.  
  
Leo gives him a stern glance, questioning what he is hearing. She hung up on you?   
  
Sam states, squirming a little in his chair, yet desperate to be honest.  
  
both Leo and Toby ask in unison.  
  
Sam stares at the floor, feeling quite ridiculous. We had an argument, he says, and it comes out more like a question than a statement.  
  
Leo regards the agenda on his desk, hoping for some cryptic memo on Sam and CJ's fight. When none is there, he sighs and it mixes with Toby's chuckle.  
  
You had a fight with CJ? Toby laughs. And now she won't speak to you?  
  
Sam can't quite bring himself to nod, for he feels the anger tingling in his chest.  
  
What are you, five? Toby continues.  
  
I wanted to tell you all, and she said I was manipulative, and then we exchanged some colorful phrases before she stormed out, he says begrudgingly.  
  
Tell us all what?  
  
Sam looks up apprehensively, and those ever present words that he relies on for everything seem to have vanished. That we are... His index finger waves back and forth to indicate together', and he watches Leo and Toby's jaws drop in unison.  
  
Hey there, happy campers, Josh says merrily while strutting into the office, Donna and Carol in pursuit.  
  
You are... Leo mimics Sam's gesture as Josh enters.   
  
When Josh sees the expressions on their faces, he comes to an abrupt halt. Who is-? Josh also does the motion.  
  
He and CJ are, Toby fills in.  
  
Oh my God, Sam! Donna chirps. That's so great.  
  
Josh sighs, slumping into the nearest chair in shock. Never in a million years would I have thought that you and... His voice trails off.  
  
You and CJ, huh? Got yourself an incredible woman, Toby says, a hint of nostalgia in his tone.  
  
Sam nods quietly in complete agreement, and then scrunches up his face when he recalls how this moment is the reason why the woman he loves isn't speaking to him. He turns to Leo, expecting some form of reprimand.  
  
We'll keep it quiet, Leo says calmly.  
  
~* *~  
  
Excuse me, a gentle voice whispers from behind her. You may go in and visit her, but only one at a time, and for ten minutes, the woman explains, and CJ stirs slightly at the words.  
  
Thank you, she says gratefully, and turns towards her father as the doctor departs. She nudges him gently, and watches him open his eyes. The doctor said you could go in and see her if you like.  
  
He smiles weakly, rising from his chair to walk into the room. CJ and her brothers observe the moment through the venetian blinds in silence . She watches the tears fall down her father's face, and it occurs to her that she's never seen him cry. His tears resemble her own.   
  
David holds onto her hand tightly. She'll be okay. You do know that, don't you? His voice sounds unsure.  
  
She turns away, wanting to be somewhere else, anywhere.   
  
CJ. Where are you going? her brother questions.  
  
She pauses, head down, attempting to explain why she can't stand any more pain, for there is no more space for scars, and she's sure there isn't another drop of blood for her to bleed. The ring of her phone interrupts her thoughts.  
  
Hey Toby, she says, her voice positive, synthetic. Yes. My father is with her now. How are things at work? She fiddles with her hair while he talks.   
  
I'm not phoning entirely about work CJ, he explains, and she can tell by the background noise that he must be outside.  
  
She looks apprehensively around the room. Just calling out of friendship then?  
  
Yeah. See how you were, and to say... his voice trails off. After an awkward silence, he clears his throat. I'm really pleased for you CJ.  
  
She shoves her left thumb into the pocket of her jeans, and leans against the wall. Pleased about what?  
  
For you and Sam. I'm really happy for you and-  
  
She throws her head back, furry burning her eyes. How the hell do you know about...?   
  
He told us today.  
  
He did, did he? she asks, rage echoing down the line. Well, not only is he the most selfish asshole I have ever met, but I think you ought to know that we are no longer together.   
  
Toby lets out a knowing sigh. Heard about the fight. You shouldn't be childish, CJ.  
  
Oh piss off, Toby!  
  
I've been there. I know, he maintains.  
  
She paces the length of the room.  
  
Don't cut him off, CJ, he says, and the wise tone in his voice is unfamiliar.  
  
She is silent for a while, not wanting to admit her compliance. I have to go now.  
  
Okay. I'll keep you informed.  
  
She shrugs her shoulders. So will I. Bye.   
  
She closes her phone, and sighs deeply, sitting on the back of the couch in the room.   
  
CJ. CJ, Matt places his hand on her shoulder. You look like you've just seen a ghost or something. Are you okay?  
  
she gazes blankly up at him. Yeah, yeah. It's just that... she takes a deep breath. I think that everything which I saw as a constant has just become a variable.  
  
Her brothers both regard her quizzically. I'm not so sure I follow.  
  
She stands up. I'm not sure I do either, she says before wandering down the corridor, yearning for fresh air.  
  
  
~* *~  
  
  
  
The breeze causes her coat to whip about her ankles as she strides down the hospital steps, towards the little park in the center of the complex. A squirrel scampers across the lawn clutching a nut in its mouth. Birds gather around some old bread which has been laid out. She watches them as they move around in the group, looking up every now and then. They seem to communicate somehow, and she wishes she knew the secret.   
  
She misses their walks in the park, her and Sam, holding hands. He'd stop when they'd reached the bench, gaze into her eyes and she'd feel like she had fallen two thousand feet into a bed of cotton balls. How she misses that incredible lightness, his sincere touch.  
  
She pulls her cellphone out of her pocket, opening it, yet hesitating to push 5, his number on her speed dial. Their relationship is now at the stage she never wanted it to reach, at that awful place where her colleagues know that she's going against all social etiquette, and it frightens her more than she can bear. He breaks her into a million fragile pieces, alters her world beyond all recognition, and still she feels more shattered when they are apart. So she punches in his number, listening to the monotonous ring, until she hears his breath when he lifts the receiver.  
  
she whispers softly.   
  
  
~To Be Continued~  
  
------------------------------  
Feedback as always to cappuccinogirlie@hotmail.com  
Visit the author's website at www.cappuccinogirl.com  
  
  
  



	7. Life's Little Whirlwinds

Life's Little Whirlwinds  
  
Author: Cappuccino Girl  
  
Genre: CJ/Sam. Angst. Drama.  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All this time, and they still don't belong to me.  
Notes: You know, I still can't quite comprehend the fact that this is it. I've written this series, a series which has become such an incredible part of me, and it's so difficult to write those magic words The End', as I don't want to leave it behind. The situation and characters might return in a continuing series if I get enough requests, and feel inspired, but for now it's complete.   
Thanks: My beta readers, how fabulous are you? I can't thank you enough. You have made this creative journey what it is, and I owe you, big-time! The Readers, your feedback is what has kept me motivated when I had writer's block and didn't know where to go. It is wonderful and appreciated more than you can probably imagine.  
  
Summary: I somehow told a large group of the senior staff about our relationship, which I know was your worst nightmare incarnate, yet here we are again, and all you want is to get me horizontal.  
  
  
  
  
She's going down, down the escalator and back to reality. Confrontations with colleagues. Outsmarting the press. The familiar rat race within the White House. She can see the conveyor belts of the baggage claim, praying that her suitcase will be there soon as this is the part she hates most about flying with a commercial airline. She had been too exhausted to organise anything before she left, even for personal convenience, and now she must wait when she wishes she'd been at home ten hours ago.  
  
Hey there, beautiful. A familiar voice fills her ears. Other noises cease and all she hears are those gorgeous words, and when she lifts her head and steps away from the escalator, he is standing there before her. Without uttering a word, she wraps her arms around him, kissing him softly on the mouth. Longing to display her feelings with more than heartfelt phrases, she still shows restraint, for she knows the airport is as public as a location can be.   
  
I can't believe you came to- You came to pick me up, she says, in awe of the simple gesture which means the world.  
  
He strokes his fingers over her hand before taking it, and walking with her towards the baggage claim. Isn't that what couples should do?  
  
Maybe. I don't know. I've never been good with shoulds' and She smiles as they hold hands, waiting for her luggage, she realises that his presence is bliss, like that first sip of coffee in the morning.  
  
I know, he murmors before going to grab the bags he recognises from her living room a week ago.  
  
They wander to his car together. He's carrying two bags, and she's wheeling her suitcase, as she insisted on taking something herself. When they reach his silver BMW at the far corner of the parking garage, he sets the bags down and fumbles around for the keys. She slips her hands into his coat pocket, grasping his hand, preventing the search, and it's just the two of them standing face to face.   
  
She sighs, and gazes deeply into his eyes. Sam, I... I feel- I'm so sorry, sorry for the hurt, and the yelling, and all the other shitty things I did. It's just... I'm so scared that something outside my control might cause me to lose you that I put up all these guard rails, but some how I go and fuck things up myself, and I-  
  
he whispers. I know. I know your fears, and your interminable professionalism. Some things you never have to explain. I always know the meaning.  
  
Oh God, Sam, I've been such an asshole. She buries her face in his shoulder, her tears dampening his coat.  
  
Rather than agreeing like she thinks he should, he just strokes her hair and replies softly, I wish you wouldn't cry. You're so pretty when you smile.  
  
~* *~  
  
She sighs heavily, letting her bags thud onto the living room floor, then kneeling down to pet her cat, which has been weaving around her legs, meowing demandingly. Once Sam has closed the door, he adds the black suitcase to the pile and discards his coat. She stands up, kicks off her shoes and saunters towards him, and he can feel his breath quicken at her approach. Her eyes sparkle for the first time in weeks, and it takes every last inch of his control not to drag her into the bedroom and never get up again.   
  
he says firmly.  
  
What? What, what, what? she purrs, showering him with kisses, her hands on his ass.  
  
He pulls back. Look, I think we need to talk first.  
  
Oh, I'm good at talk, Samuel.  
  
Yes, I know, but we really need to discuss things. He attempts to lead her to the couch, doing his best not to trip over the bags on the floor.  
  
Such as? she questions, voice sultry.  
  
Less than ten days ago you stormed out of here, cursing me, and then I somehow told a large group of the senior staff about our relationship, which I know was your worst nightmare incarnate, yet here we are again, and all you want is to get me horizontal.   
  
Her expression changes and she sinks into the sofa, patting the space beside her. He joins her, and she leans into him, savoring their closeness.  
  
We can't go on like this, Claudia, constant fighting and making up. We can't, and I won't. He turns her face towards him so he can observe her reaction.  
  
Turning slightly so her back is against one of the armrests, she replies, I think this can work, you and me. I mean, the main tension factor is gone now that you've told Leo.  
  
Is it? Is it really gone?  
  
She moves her feet up onto the couch and wraps her arms around her legs, almost rocking.   
  
And should the press find out, what then? Will I have you breaking emotionally, letting all your frustrations out on me again? You have to understand me here; we've been walking on some pretty thin ice these past few weeks. His eyes are honest, and she can see the hurt in his face, yet she feels pain in her own chest.  
  
It's not easy Sam, having all these labels attached to you just for loving someone.  
  
He shifts slightly, his confusion visible. What labels, CJ? The only ones I'm seeing are those which you automatically assume people will stick on you.  
  
She leans her head on her hands, eyes narrowing. You just don't get it do you?  
  
He lets out a deep breath, praying inside that the ice won't break. I'm younger than you are. We are colleagues. We both have public profiles to consider.  
  
She pushes her hair out of her face and tucks it behind her ear before speaking. So you do understand.  
  
No, CJ, I don't. So what if I'm five years younger than you, that we happen to be colleagues who work at the White House, and that the public might be marginally interested. Why should you give a flying fuck about that?  
  
We both know that politics is perception, and it will reflect badly on this administration, she exclaims.  
  
Yes, if we make out in the back of cars, or have phone-sex and someone has footage, it just might, he remarks.  
  
Don't trivialise this.  
  
I'm not. Jesus, CJ, why don't you think people can understand that love is an involuntary reflex? You should have been there when I told Leo, and Toby, and Josh.  
  
She rolls her eyes at him. Well, be glad I wasn't, because you probably wouldn't be standing anymore.  
  
He smiles and leans over to her. They weren't angry. Sure, they were surprised, but most of all they were pleased, and Toby, well...  
  
She kisses him softly on the lips. He called me, you know. Said how happy he was for me, and I went crazy, and he just stopped me, and told me- I do believe his words were Don't be childish.'  
  
Her eyes observe his mouth, watching as he laughs, as he talks. That sounds like him. He pauses, gazes into her precious eyes. Promise to get through the bumps together?  
  
She wraps her arms around his neck, and their lips meet, tongues intertwine, and it's the best answer he could ever have wished for.  
  
~* *~  
  
The alarm clock went off fifteen minutes ago, at least she thinks it did. It could have been half an hour, but the covers are so comfortable, and the sheets smell fabulously of Sam. Her and Sam, and last night, and this morning.  
  
Come on, it's so late already, he tells her as he wanders out of the bathroom, tugging on some clean black pants, and a white shirt.  
  
Oh shit, is it that late? she exclaims, rubbing her eyes until the glowing numbers on the clock return her to reality.  
  
Tossing the covers reluctantly across the bed, she moves towards the steam-filled bathroom, and when she isn't looking, he sneaks up behind her and kisses her shoulders.  
  
he smiles.  
  
Is this a request to join me? she giggles, eyebrows raised flirtatiously.  
  
It would be if we weren't so damn late, he says before shoving her under the hot spray. Her laughter echoes through the room as he leaves for the kitchen.   
  
  
~* *~  
  
  
She staggers into the kitchen, dressed in her bathrobe, wet hair up in a clip. Once she's sure no-one is watching, she snatches the bagel from the counter, and curls up in the seat on the window ledge. She flicks the heavy curtains out of the way, and as they fall into place in front of her, forming a half barrier between her and the room, she begins to savor her new conquest.  
  
The sound of bare feet on tiles indicate his presence, and she holds her breath for a moment. Hey, I'm sure I made a bagel and left it here and now... His voice trails off, and she can picture his eyes dancing around the room in confusion.  
  
After waiting a moment, she sneaks her head out from behind the curtain. Would you be looking for this one? she asks, pointing to the plate in her other hand.  
  
Yes. He pauses before stating the obvious. That was my breakfast, you know.  
  
Oh, was it? It tastes really good, she says mischievously as she struts towards him, demonstratively licking her fingers.  
  
His eyes follow her intently, enjoying the total absence of her inhibitions. I thought you didn't do' breakfast.  
  
I decided to take your advice, she remarks, taking another bite before adding, It's lacking strawberry jam.  
  
He continues to watch her, completely enthralled. I made that, you know, so that _I_ could eat it.  
  
I'm enjoying it for you, she beams.  
  
I can see that, but I want my bagel.  
  
It's mine now, she retorts, dipping her finger into the cream cheese and smearing it onto his nose.  
  
With one swoop, he lunges for her plate, and she yelps gleefully, dashing around the kitchen table, hair coming undone and forming wet strands around her face. They dodge each other around the kitchen counter, he darting one way, she skipping the other, as he tries to grab the bagel from her.   
  
I need my breakfast, he states when he pauses for a breath and to admire her in all her post-shower attractiveness.  
  
She raises her eyebrows seductively. So, come and get it.  
  
He rushes around the counter towards her, but before he can get close enough to reach the plate, she's dashed out of the kitchen door, laughing hysterically.   
  
he calls, running after her.   
  
A loud crashing sound is accompanied by a slew of swearing, and when he reaches the bedroom, she is face down on the floor, the two bagel halves beside her.   
  
Damn rugs, she exclaims as she rolls over to look up at him.  
  
He's standing there in the doorway, his laughter spirited. Kneeling down to pick up his intended food, he reaches over her sprawled body, but before he can even reach one of the halves, she's pulled him down beside her, and is starting to unbutton his shirt.  
  
We can make better use of our time than with breakfast, surely? she whispers, licking the cream cheese from his nose.  
  
A puzzled expression on his face, he comments, We don't have any.  
  
Hey, you're the one who told everyone that we're together, so I'm just embracing the benefits of official coupledom here, she tells him in-between kisses.  
  
You won't get any complaints out of me.   
  
He undoes the already lose tie of her bathrobe, and they roll over on the floor, a mess of skin and cotton and towelling, attempting to dodge the still scattered bagels.  
  
  
~* *~  
  
  
Well, California certainly seems to agree with you, Carol smirks as CJ waltzes past her desk.  
  
She looks over to her secretary, marginally confused. I don't think I follow.  
  
When I think of all the family chaos you must have been through these past weeks, you do look positively radiant, considering... Carol offers innocently, handing CJ an array of multicolored folders.  
  
My mom's recovering well. I'm, you know, fine, and it's a beautiful day outside. What more could one wish for, she says dreamily, heading to her office while Carol answers the telephone.  
  
Okay... Yes, she is here, just came in. I can put you through, John. Carol places her hand over the receiver, and calls out to her boss. CJ, John's on the phone.  
  
Thanks. I'll take it in here.   
  
Once the door has been closed behind her, she casually slings the folders onto the chair and admires the sun shining through the window, wishing she could be lazing outside on the lawn. Resigned to her working fate, she reaches over the desk to pick up the phone.   
  
Morning John. How are things? She twirls the phone cord around her index finger and takes a long sip of her coffee while her colleague informs her of the day's happenings. Gradually, the smile painted across her face fades, and it takes all her restraint not to spit out the coffee in her mouth. Are you sure of this? Who was there? Shit. Yeah, thanks. Get back to me if you have any more, okay?  
  
She places the receiver down quickly, disgusted at the news it has brought her. she calls urgently from the doorway of her office. Is Leo in?  
  
Her assistant stops thumbing through her agenda. Should be. Why?  
  
Doesn't matter, she blurts. Umm, can you get the staff to assemble in my office in fifteen minutes?   
  
Carol nods. I'll do my best.  
  
  
~* *~  
  
  
Why am I here? Sam asks, grimacing.  
  
Because I told you to be, CJ states sourly.  
  
I have work to do.  
  
She removes her glasses and glares sternly at him. Yeah, no shit. So do I, but our priorities have shifted slightly for today.   
  
I have a meeting with Congressman Davis in twenty minutes, he pouts.  
  
Leo clears his throat, and the two turn their heads to look at him. I assume you are having this mind-numbing conversation in here for a reason, but I'd greatly appreciate it if you could include me in your ramblings.  
  
Taking a seat, CJ proceeds to explain. I got a phone call from John. Apparently a journalist for the New York Times was at National Airport yesterday, as was I... she pauses for a moment to glance over at Sam, who is shifting uncomfortably in his seat. ... And Sam.  
  
Leo nods, writing something on the pad of paper before him.  
  
John says the issue will probably arise at the press briefing today, she sighs, defeated.  
  
And please explain to me why I am supposed to care about this? Leo questions, eyes flicking between the pair seated opposite him.  
  
It is clearly a staff issue, CJ says in her best professional tone.  
  
So? The White House does not comment on the personal lives of its staff. You know that. I know that. Why the urgency, CJ? Leo places his pencil down, and gives her a fatherly look.  
  
I just wanted you to know that this might come up, that's all, she says, feeling exposed as even Leo can see through her.  
  
Thank you. Leo rises from his chair and moves over to the two. I don't condone your actions, as you know, but I will always be supportive of your wish for privacy.  
  
She smiles, first at Leo, and then at Sam. she nods, heading towards the door.  
  
  
~* *~  
  
  
They've culminated, these months of sorrows and joys that life's little whirlwinds threw at her, and she's come out standing tall as ever, in spite of the tripping and falling. It'll never stop, never has done, and surely never will, but as long as she can make it to the eye of the storm, where the weather's beautiful, then all the struggles seem worthwhile.   
  
He's hurt her more than she can remember being hurt before, but she injured him back, stabbed him to the very core of his being, yet their wounds seem to have healed somehow. The scars remain as tiny mementoes of duels past, and she's grateful that she has those to hold onto, for it makes everything all the more real. He's real, genuine, and they'll go home together, wake up together, and fight and make love together.   
  
She closes her notebook, and places the pens and disks into the top desk drawer. The necessary items she shoves into her bag, and pulls her coat effortlessly from its hanger, tossing it over her arm before switching the light off.   
  
It's past midnight, and the halls are empty but for a few staffers whisking off to complete a last minute errand. She gingerly pokes her head around his door.   
  
she smiles.   
  
Hey. I'm just about ready.  
  
No hurry. Standing in the doorway, she watches him as he runs down his mental checklist, grabbing almost forgotten memos from the pile on his desk. His hands flail around a little, trying to locate something he can't even remember. She loves his erratic ways, how he can be so unprepared, yet can spontaniously create such perfect speeches that make her heart pound.  
  
Moving towards the hallway, he glances around the room, checking for something he might have forgotten, but it's all a show, as he can think of nothing but her standing with her back against the door frame, watching him.  
  
As much as he'd like to prolong the moment, he closes the door behind him, and takes her hand, gazing into her gentle eyes. So, how was your day?  
  
  
~ The End ~  
  
  
-------------------------------------------------  
feedback as always to cappuccinogirlie@hotmail.com  
visit the author's website at www.cappuccinnogirl.com  
-------------------------------------------------  
  
Complicated: A Series  
  
1. Complicated Piece  
2. Abandoned Communication  
3. A Teasing Distance  
4. The Boy-From-Next-Door Routine  
5. And So They Part  
6. Constant Becomes Variable  
7. Life's Little Whirlwinds  
  
-------------------------------------------------  
  
  
  
  



End file.
